The Games We Play
by Bastetian
Summary: A little meta-ficlet in honour of Remembrance Day: because this isn't a game, people die and when they do, there are consequences and no one knows that like Buck Riley Junior


**A/N: **So apparently yesterday was the anniversary of the creation of the Marine Corp and today is Remembrance Day so in honour of all those, from all countries and walks of life, who have served, here's a little ficlet. This is set during Area 7, just before Book II and the others are attacked in the decompression chamber. As is usual with me, it was meant to be light-hearted and then I angsted all over it… sorry (but not really :P)

This is also my best attempt at metafiction, so I'm gonna count it for that square on my trope bingo card even though it really only ended up being a handful of lines.

Finally, just as a little disclaimer, seeing as I've tried to insert this scene into an actual canon scene, I have integrated actual Area 7 text within this fic. The first and last few sentances are not mine but belong exclusively to Matthew Reilly. Actually, everything in this fic isn't really mine – I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox because it is an awesome sandbox and I hope he doesn't mind sharing a little.

The Games We Play

Whilst Elvis and Love Machine headed for the diving wall, Book II played his flashlight over the thirty-foot long decompression chamber. It was absolutely huge. A loud metallic _clang_ rang through the room and Buck spun, shotgun already raised. The only thing caught in his sights though was a sheepish looking Elvis and an open silver box at his feet.

"Christ," Buck swore, lowering his gun. "You scared the crap outta me."

A casual shrug rolled through Elvis' ample shoulders.  
>"It looked interesting," he said, "I thought we should check it out."<p>

"It looked interesting?" Had he been prone to such gestures, Buck might've been tempted to smack himself in the forehead. Or smack Elvis for that matter.  
>In the head.<br>With the butt of his gun.

The President's Marine Guard had developed a reputation through the years – it was made up of the hotheads, the careless and the plain stupid who couldn't be trusted with the more dangerous work of the Corp. The Secret Service were there to do the real work. The marines were just decoration.  
>Riley thought the higher ups ought to seriously reconsider that position.<p>

He had copped a fair bit of flack himself for volunteering for the job after his dad – the original Book Riley – had died. A cushy job, they said, a safe job. Riley knew better.  
>He'd signed up to keep an eye on one reckless idiot and got stuck babysitting a round dozen of them but at least no one was dying on his watch.<p>

"It looked interesting," Buck repeated through clenched teeth, "So you thought you'd just open up an unidentified box in an unsecure and potentially hostile environment just to see what it would do? It could've been booby-trapped; it could've contained bio-toxins; you could've given away our position which, in case you've forgotten, is also the position of the goddamn President of the United States who just happens to be on the run from the best Special Forces this country can offer. But it's okay, because it looked interesting."

"Sorry," Elvis offered, "I didn't think."

"Damn right you didn't."

"Lay off Riley," Love Machine's soft-spoken voice joined the fray as he returned from his sweep "We're all a little on edge right now."

"Gee, I wonder why?" Book II shot back, laden with sarcasm. "Couldn't have something to do with the whole country depending on us, could it?"

There was plenty of mythos associated with the Marine Corp. Those outside of it only saw young men and women in the prime of their lives – taut bodies, sharp uniforms and the gratitude of a nation on their shoulders. But life was no fairytale and even heroes weren't guaranteed their happy endings.  
>Buck Riley Junior knew that better than most.<p>

Because Buck Riley Senior had been the very definition of a hero, right up until the day he didn't come home.

"You got kids?" Buck demanded, rounding upon Love Machine.

"I got a little girl," Love Machine's voice never wavered.

"Well you think of her next time you want to do something stupid," Riley said, "because this isn't a video game or some stupid action novel. There are no restore points, no bonus lives if you throw yours away and there sure as shit isn't any guarantee we're getting out of here alive."

Love Machine's heavy hand fell on Buck's shoulder.  
>"Everyone here knows that boy," he said grimly, "and everyone here has seen more of death than you. So why don't you spend a little less time judging everyone else and a little more time doing your job and then maybe, just maybe, we'll all get out alive."<p>

Buck brushed the hand away roughly and stalked off to examine the rest of the room.  
>From behind him he could hear Elvis' muttered "I liked him better when he was surly <em>and silent<em>."

He purposely didn't listen to Love Machine's reply. At the end of the elongated chamber, he found a small glass porthole and shone his light in through it.  
>What he saw made him jump.<p>

An Asian face stared back at him, a man's face, pressed up against the glass.

The Asian man was smiling cheerfully.

And then he pointed up – toward the roof of the decompression chamber.

Book II followed the man's finger with his flashlight and peered up at the top of the decompression chamber –  
>- and found himself staring into the mantis-like face of a 7th squadron commando wearing night-vision goggles and a gas mask.<p>

Well, _shit._


End file.
